


That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?

by AteanaLenn



Series: Steter(ish) shorts [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, M/M, Murder Husbands, Steter Week, Steter Week 2018, Stiles is about Derek's age, mention of bestiality, mention of incest, mention of organ trafficking, offscreen murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 05:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15429897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AteanaLenn/pseuds/AteanaLenn
Summary: Murder husbands, Hannibal style: revenge is (extra) cold dish.In which Stiles and Peter met through a writing class and hit it off. They write mythological/supernatural fiction together.Written forSteter Week 2018(Soulmates/Mates AU OR Murder Husbands AU )and thesarcasm prompt: “That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”





	That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic got away from me? I didn’t know what to write for the prompt, so I started a bit nowhere, and ran with it, and then it grew weirder and I… still ran with it lol. So yeah, this fic is O.o :D  
> But I guess the mood fits 'murder husbands' morality xD
> 
> -

“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?” 

“I’m never melodramatic.”

“That’s the worst piece of bullshit I’ve ever heard you say,” Stiles retorted, making a face.

Peter staggered back, hand on his heart. “You hurt me! Really.”

“Certainly less than you hurt that guy who’s now speared up in this big-ass tree, like the weirdest Christmas ornament ever.”

“You have never seen Cora’s creations, have you?” Peter asked after a thoughtful pause.

“... No, but I am now worried to show up for Christmas.”

“You cannot default on me. You  _ swore _ that you would keep me company. If you cancel now, I’m never forgiving you.”

Stiles laughed. “Oh god Peter, you are  _ absolutely _ melodramatic. Also, please don’t start pouting. Might I remind you that Christmas is over six months away?”

“What can I do, I’m a planner.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Stiles said, looking up in the tree again. “By the way, why the hell did you waste a perfectly good offering to the Nemeton, and strung it up to be eaten by the wildlife?”

“This ass’ pack is due to show up today. They have a meeting with Talia.”

“And you want them to stumble upon this, first. Isn’t that risky, for Talia’s meeting?”

“Nope,” Peter answered with an obnoxiously smug smile. “They sent this shit stain here to spy on us, so they’d get an edge. They can’t actually acknowledge they know him, or else they’ll also confess to sending pack members in another’s territory without warning, conveniently just a before a meeting.”

“Oooh, buuurn. Either they say they know him, and then Talia starts the meeting in a position of strength, with the higher ground, or they shut up, knowing that we already killed one of their number, knowing that we might mention the offense at any moment and attack the rest of their group.”

“Exactly.”

“I like it.”

“I thought that you might.”

They basked in the pleasure of murder art done well for a few more minutes, then Stiles turned away.

“Let’s go see if one of the magic trap got us a vagrant or something. We should feed the Nemeton right away, if we don’t want  _ it _ to pout.”

Peter grimaced. “The last time it threw a temper tantrum, it destroyed the undercarriage of my car with those plants! It wouldn’t!”

“You wanna bet?”

“... No, dammit. Shit, I wanted to go home and write, for once Talia didn’t need me for the meeting.”

“Come on, let’s check the north one. We haven’t been there in a while and it’s the closest. It should be quick.”

“Alright. If the tree grumbles about the freshness of the offering again, I’m going to cause a pill-up and throw them all at it, cars and everything.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, tugging on his friend’s hand. “Melodramatic, I tell you. If it complains, we’ll just grab that serial killer we tracked last month, from Waterfell City, during the weekend.”

“I thought that you wanted to plant evidence at his place and use him as decoy, just in case someone links something to us. Which, by the way, won’t happen, because I’ll have you know that I’m always discreet and careful.”

“Careful, yeah. Discreet, not on your life. You  _ strut _ Peter.”

“What can I say, I like when people undress me with their eyes.”

“You like it when they do with their hands too.”

“Depends on the person, I have some standards, of course, but yeah, sex feels good.”

“You don’t have ‘standards’, you have an overdeveloped werewolf nose,” Stiles muttered under his breath, as they trooped through the forest.

“That too.”

“Let’s move, Casanova. If we hurry, we can still set up shop at the Coffee Mugs and spend a few hours with our text.”

“Oh!” Peter jogged forward quickly, throwing an arm around Stiles’ shoulders when he reached him. “Speaking of, I had a thought while I was peeling that guy’s skin. That old lady with her cat in the text we put aside last week, what do you think about having her summon a demon and…”

/

“No! You can have that guy kill that woman, idiot, we made him squeamish around blood, remember!”

Peter frowned down at his tablet, tugging the Bluetooth keyboard back from Stiles’ grabby hands. “Damn, you’re right.”

“And let’s not kill the mother anyway, I’m tired of dead mothers being used as a plot device.”

“Good point. What about the brother?”

“Aren’t you cute, for a pair of bloodthirsty nerds?”

Stiles and Peter looked up with identical frowns on their faces, obviously still focused on their writing. “What?” they asked together.

“You. The both of you. Ignoring your coffees in favor of deciding who’s going to kill who in your latest little gory story,” Laura explained with a teasing smile as she sat at their table, on the opposite bench. “It’s cute.”

“Excuse you! I’m not cute, I’m handsome!” Peter retorted.

Stiles rolled his eyes and grabbed the tablet to pull up their resource post for ‘Writing Sketchy Topics’, while Peter snarked with his niece. 

“What are you looking at?” Peter eventually asked, when Laura went to grab herself a snack at the counter.

“Kidney prices. I was thinking maybe the brother could sell an organ to get some money, but damn, did you see those prices? Let’s make him organ trafficker. That way he can hide his serial killings behind bad organ thief for trafficking gone wrong!”

“My god, you two are so weird.” Laura put down a plate with a sandwich and a few mini cakes. 

“Oh, fuck off, I’ve seen you let Derek mount you when you were both in wolf form during a full moon, you don’t get to call anyone ‘weird’.”

Laura rolled her eyes, but not after checking that nobody was listening.

“Don’t worry,” Peter said absently, “everybody knows we write gory thrillers, nobody pay attention to what we say anymore.”

“ _ Cute _ . Also, fuck you Stiles. You’d let Peter mount you any time and you’re not even a shifter. Also, we’re werewolves. Human laws don’t apply to us when we’re in our wolf form,” she said, shrugging.

“Please, you just like Derek’s dick too much to give it up.”

“Well, did you see that dick?”

Stiles fell silent a moment, staring at the ceiling, lost in thoughts. “Yeah, okay, I’ll give you that one.”

“ _ Stiles _ ...” Peter grumbled with a frown.

“Meh. It’s not like I’m going to go hunt down Derek. But it’s a nice mental image, don’t try to tell me otherwise.”

Peter made a face, then relented. “Yeah, okay, he’s got a nice dick. If you like your lovers the grunting, resting bitch face kind.”

“Why do you think I only let him mount me when we’re in wolf form?”

Stiles let out a loud snorting laugh, head thrown back, almost slipping right off his seat. “Oh my god, you Hales are such assholes.”

Laura preened, a devilish smirk stretching her lips. “Thank you.” She drained her coffee, pushing the remaining mini cakes toward the duo. “Anyway, I have things to do. See you later, losers.”

They flipped her the bird as one, watching her sashay to her bike, two men and a woman also following her with their eyes. Peter snorted when one of them almost faceplanted, too busy staring at Laura’s swinging hips.

“Organ trafficking?” Peter said, swiping the tablet’s login screen away again.

“Sure. It would fit with the butchering from the serial killing. Plus I bet we can work it that the investigators’ thoughts jump straight to the  _ Hannibal- _ like cannibalism, just grab some fleshy organs with the lungs and stuff.”

“Hum, that might work. The  _ Hannibal  _ story is probably known enough that the cops could reasonably make the link. If we make that character set up the corpse half heartedly, we might make it like a cannibal trying to hide the ‘food’ theft behind organ trafficking.”

“Oooh, that’s convoluted. I like it. What about…”

/

“You know, Stiles,” the sheriff said, one evening, “you’re going to have to look for work at some point. Writing with Peter is fun, but will it be enough to pay your bills? And I doubt Peter will let you squat his guest room forever.”

“Please, of course he will. He’s been using me for months as an excuse to Talia, to keep his condo in town, instead of moving back in the Hale house.”

John snorted. “Well, I can understand him. I wouldn’t want to have to live together with fifteen other people in the same house either, no matter how big that house is.”

“I know, right! And also they tend to use Peter as convenient babysitter when he’s in grabbing range, so no. I need my writing partner available, without half a Lacrosse team of kids pulling at his attention.”

“Makes sense.” John put down his peeler, staring at his son intently. “You two  _ still _ haven’t gotten together, have you?”

“Daaaad.” Stiles let his head thunk on the kitchen table. “No, I promise you that Peter isn’t my boyfriend.”

John frowned. “You know that I wouldn’t mind, right? You’re good together, though you sometimes enable each other.”

“Seriously?” Stiles looked up, mouth half hanging open. “He’s ten years older and Derek’s uncle!”

“What does Derek have to do with anything? You’re not going out with him?”

“No!”

“Good. He’s a good kid, your age too, of course, but I’m pretty sure that you’d overwhelm him within the month. And yeah, Peter’s older. But you’re twenty-three yourself. You’ve lived enough that I wouldn’t worry as much about you letting yourself be led around by the man. And you’ve been best friends for years now. I admit I was worried when you were a teenager, because Peter as a teenager was a little shit-”

“He’s  _ still _ a little shit.”

“True. But instead, the two of you started writing those stories of yours and never stopped. He agreed to keep your meetings in those coffee shops, which was probably expensive for him, but was a lot more reassuring for me. You spent your worst teenager years brainstorming gory stories in a public space downtown, Stiles. I can guarantee you that most of your age did much, much worse.”

“Miss Elias wouldn’t say the same.”

“Miss Elias is our resident Christian-extremist-slash-nazi. Nobody listens to her opinion. The facts are that while you were getting doped on coffee and pastries, Whittemore was arrested twice for raping girls, which his asshole father managed to get him out of. I’m still angry about that,” John growled out, spearing his potato with the peeler. 

He took a deep breath, then continued. “McCall got caught stalking the Argent girl, Daehler turned out to be a peeping tom, Lahey managed to get his hands on drugs and no matter what I do, I can never get him clean…” John rubbed a hand over his hair, then made a face when he realized he hadn’t wiped them out. “The Hales are weird. They’re really damn weird and I  _ know _ that they have secrets. Big ones. But dammit, making best friends with a high-schooler when you were only a kid was the best thing that could happen to you, going by how your classmates turned out. Yes, the two of you gave me white hair and I kept worrying about why the hell a grown teenager thought a kid was the best writing partner he could find, but you promise me that he never touch you wrong…”

“I promise. Scout’s honor and everything. Peter would never ever force himself on someone. The Hales are pretty rabid about consent of any kind. They’d rather we extend death penalty to rapists, to be honest.”

“I wouldn’t mind it either,” the sheriff murmured.

He was probably thinking about the little girl who’d been found in a ravine recently. Stiles knew that they had no clues. It’d been too long and the poor girl had spent a long time outside. There wasn’t much left.

But it had been enough for Stiles and Peter to suspect Whittemore. The asshole had calmed down, after the second almost-conviction. Stiles suspected that Whittemore senior had grown tired of paying off the victim’s parents and put his foot down. 

Still, Stiles suspected the bastard had just moved his hunting grown off the Beacon Hills county. Whittemore traveled enough for it to be a possibility. 

Supposedly, Whittemore had only been back for a week, which gave him an alibi for the little girl’s disappearance. Except that Stiles and Peter had dug a bit and found out that the moron had been holed up in a hotel barely an hour away under a fake name.

They hadn’t said anything to the sheriff because Whittemore Sr would get him free anyway. But a few stake-out under Whittemore’s windows had gotten them a confession. They’d known the bastard wouldn’t have been able to keep from bragging. Now they were only waiting for things to calm down. Whittemore was due to leave town again next month. They’d already planned to grab him on his way out.

“Bottom line,” John said, “no, I wouldn’t mind if you ended up with Peter. He’s already proved he’d take good care of you and the two of you are like peas in a pod.”

“Oh,” Stiles answered quietly, looking a bit lost.

John sat back a moment, then asked, “you’ve been ignoring your attraction to him because of me, haven’t you?”

‘And because I knew that the Hales would sniff me out within seconds. And also we’ve kind of been murdering people together since I turned eighteen, tada! But don’t worry, Peter only started showing me how to kill people when I was of age, promise,’ Stiles didn’t say. “Yeah,” he answered instead, looking down at the table. He didn’t like lying to his dad. The Hales couldn’t care less that Peter and Stiles killed humans, especially since they mostly fed them to the Nemeton to keep it nice and growing, but the sheriff would have been another story entirely.

“I don’t mind,” John repeated. “You’re an adult, Peter is rich, and the stories that you co-write sell well enough on internet to make a decent living anyway, don’t they?”

“Yeah. It’d be tight if Peter didn’t have money, because it’s not for all taste or public consumption, but we’re doing okay.”

“Then go for it kiddo.”

“But what if Peter doesn’t care for me  _ like that _ .”

“Stiles, I’ve seen the way that man look at you. Half the little old ladies at the groceries store keep cornering me to coo at me about how the two of you are ‘ _ so cute _ ’ and ‘ _ how we don’t see such happy and comfortable young people together so often anymore _ ’. You spend half your days at the coffee shop downtown together, cuddled up on a bench behind your tablet screen, Stiles. Beacon Hills gossips have long ago decreed that the two of you were the ‘ _ cutest thing ever _ ’.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles exclaimed, blushing and hiding his face in his arms.

John let him hide for a bit, then smiled gently when Stiles finally looked up. “Come on, kid, let’s finish dinner.”

/

Peter proved his patience, when it took him three weeks to snap.

“What’s wrong with you, Stiles? You’ve been distracted for a while now. You almost  _ stumbled over the Nemeton _ today!”

“Dammit.” 

Stiles flopped down against said tree, leaning back against the massive trunk. The roots next to him were slowly kneading the dead body cradled between them, turning it into pulp to be pulled down in the earth once it had thoroughly squeezed out the blood.

“I had a talk with my dad, last time we had dinner.”

Peter frowned, absently kicking a pile of clothes farther away from the slowly expanding sinkhole under the body and huge roots.

“Is there something wrong? He isn’t sick, is he?”

“Wha- no! No, it’s nothing like that, he’s okay.”

Stiles hesitated one last time, then threw out the words all at once, like he’d rip a band-aid. “He thinks that you love me.”

Peter froze.

“I mean, he said that he’d ‘seen the way you looked at me’?” Stiles added, hands waving wildly and eyes firmly fixed on the ground. “But he’s probably wrong, oh god, I’m sorry, I should-”

“I do.” Peter breathed out slowly, staring up at the Nemeton, then looked back down.

He met Stiles’ eyes.

“I love you. I didn’t at first, I promise you. It was never like that when you were a kid. We just clicked, my writing was so much better when we started working together, and our brainstorming sessions always brought the best ideas. Then slowly you grew up and you caught me with that dead body. But instead of running to your father, you asked me if it had to do with ‘the werewolf thing’ and I almost had a heart attack.” 

Peter sat down on the ground in front of Stiles, never taking his eyes off. “You listened to me and you believed me, and then you  _ helped me _ . God, Stiles, you helped me hunt the bastard fairy that had hurt Cora and you helped me make an example of him and I remember that it was the first time that I wished that you’d be with me, always. I had been Talia’s enforcer for years already, by that time, and while I don’t exactly mind the work, it’s dangerous for me, and it’s dangerous for the pack if I miss or if I get caught. It was always a worry, in the corner of my mind. ‘Will they best me this time?’ ‘There’s nobody to  watch my back.’ ‘What if I’m found out, what if the pack gets implicated too.’ ”

“And yet you forced me to stay away from that part of your life until I turned 18.”

“Yes. I couldn’t deal with the idea that you were too young to take such a decision, that you might throw away your life if we ever got caught.”

“What changed? 18 is just a number, what made you give in?”

“Two weeks before, I almost got killed.”

“What?!”

“I was in a fight and I almost died because I couldn’t protect my back and it turned out that the two assholes I was hunting had a third friend hiding behind me. They started taunting me about you, about how they’d noticed that I was always joined at the hip with you, and they were going to grab you after and do… things. They were trying to distract me so their friend could catch me unaware and they almost managed it. I barely got away from that fight with my life. And all I could think about is that if I had lost, you’d have been in danger.”

“That’s why you avoided me for two weeks.”

“Yes.”

“What brought you back? What changed your mind?” Stiles asked almost desperately.

“Talia. Well, my wolf, really, but Talia forced me to face the facts. I was wasting away. My wolf was basically on strike, demanding that we go back to you. He loves you too, you know. He considers you as ours. So the idea that I would stay away from then on… It felt in my mind like it had lain down and was just mournfully howling at the moon, calling for you.”

Stiles blushed hard, ducking his head and watching Peter from under his eyelashes. “Oh,” he whispered.

Peter half smiled. “Talia got tired of the pack bonds vibrating from my pity party. And I think that she might have been worried too, worried that I would really just give up. She showed up one morning, the day before your birthday and… well, let’s just say that she pounded into me the fact that I couldn’t just make decisions for you.”

“Well, I guess I own Talia a big thank you,” Stiles laughed, but it was a shaky thing. He crawled forward, sitting next to Peter and burying his face in the man’s shoulder, scenting each other. “And the next day you came looking for me and instead of grovelling and then driving somewhere to celebrate my birthday, we spent the day at your place, hashing out the what, how, and why of werewolves, enforcers, and murder.” 

Stiles paused and then added with a smile. “And after that we finished our best-selling novel.”

“Oh god, I  _ hate _ that novel,” Peter half laughed, half growled.

Stiles bumped him with his shoulder, smiling brilliantly. “I know,” he said. Then, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Peter answered, leaning forward and brushing their lips together.

**Author's Note:**

> This ended so cutely, I'm getting cavities just re-reading it :D  
> ♥
> 
> (  
> [the sketchy topics post Stiles mentioned](https://toffeecape.tumblr.com/post/175574052322/resources-for-writing-sketchy-topics)  
> and [the organ trafficking prices website he also looked up](https://www.havocscope.com/black-market-prices/organs-kidneys/)  
> )


End file.
